


Crescendo

by ClutchHedonist



Category: Silicon Valley (TV)
Genre: I think this is the first non-filth I have ever posted to this website, M/M, Short & Sweet, jarrich what have you done to me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-29
Updated: 2017-10-29
Packaged: 2019-01-26 03:52:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12548228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClutchHedonist/pseuds/ClutchHedonist
Summary: Wait, is he- is he singing? His long fingers are tapping out a rhythm on top of the steering wheel, at least. Richard’s eyes narrow. Yeah, that’s- his lips are definitely moving. The car drifts out of sync with theirs, and Richard watches it go with a vague sense of disappointment. He’s- he finds himself wondering what Jared’s singing voice even sounds like. He knows that Jared was in some sort of acapella group in college, so he’s probably good? Richard chews at his dry lower lip. That’s kind of- that’s a little hot, right?





	Crescendo

**Author's Note:**

  * For [elisa_pie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/elisa_pie/gifts).



> @Elisa_pie wanted Jared doing something sweet and innocuous that got Richard going, and this concept has been kicking around in my head for a while, so HERE IT IS

There’s a sticky, grayish haze hanging over the highway, and Richard huffs a sigh as he leans the side of his forehead against the window of the Escape. In the driver’s seat, Erlich is practicing some sort of...some sort of early morning tantric breathing exercise? He’s really - it’s loud. The track he’s playing is quiet, some sort of - birds and shit. But the actual- the actual  _ huffing  _ is really sort of. Off-putting. In the back row, Dinesh and Gilfoyle are already trading barbs, despite the occasional blind smacking motion that Erlich throws their way, growling about their “contributing to his chakral imbalance”.

Richard’s fingers curl around his laptop. This is- fuck. This is going to be huge. The chance to keynote  _ anywhere,  _ much less an actually established convention is- he feels his stomach lurch and scrambles for the window button, just in case. Oh god, they’re in the fast lane, he’s going to- he’s going to puke on someone’s car. Or someone’s - fuck, what if he pukes on like- like a motorcycle gang, and they just- they’d beat the living shit out of all of them, no problem. Even if it was two to one. Two bikers could. Could definitely wreck the four of them, easy. Shit. Shit.

Vaguely green, he spares a nervous glance out the window. Nothing. Oh, thank god. At least if he pukes now, it’ll just- maybe it’ll come back in the back window and hit Gilfoyle, that’d be- well, maybe they’d shut up for a second, at least? And besides, Gilfoyle has probably been covered in way weirder shit.

The charcoal gray nose of another car pulls into his peripheral vision, and he heaves a sigh. Great. Great. Now he’s going to puke on some yuppie who’ll sue him to death for damages. He casts a hopeful glance at the driver as the car pulls even with them.  _ Please don’t be an asshole, please don’t be an asshole, please don’t be a- _

Oh.

Jared’s shoulders are bobbing faintly to whatever he’s listening to, stacks of boxes crammed into the passenger and back seats around him.  _ The merch-mobile, Richard! _ , he’d called it with a sunny smile as they’d fumbled the boxes in before dawn that morning. Richard huffs a silent chuckle. 

Wait, is he- is he singing? His long fingers are tapping out a rhythm on top of the steering wheel, at least. Richard’s eyes narrow. Yeah, that’s- his lips are definitely moving. The car drifts out of sync with theirs, and Richard watches it go with a vague sense of disappointment. He’s- he finds himself wondering what Jared’s singing voice even sounds like. He knows that Jared was in some sort of acapella group in college, so he’s probably good? Richard chews at his dry lower lip. That’s kind of- that’s a little hot, right?

They come up behind a white BMW a few minutes later, Erlich pausing his breathing to let out a string of curses about  _ getting out of the fucking fast lane if all you want to do is thumb your own asshole, _ and Richard sees Jared pull even with them once more. Oh, oh, now he’s - now he’s  _ definitely  _ singing. It doesn’t look like he’s noticed that they’re beside him, either. One hand is up in the air, and his shoulders are bouncing up and down in rhythm. Richard watches one finger uncurl upward as he hits what he can only imagine is some kind of high note. His brows are furrowed, and his head tilts to the side, eyes briefly closed. This is. Wow. This is. ...Okay, all things considered, this is really. Really fucking...cute? Richard glances back over his shoulder, but Erlich is still gesticulating wildly at the BMW, Dinesh and Gilfoyle loudly offering (conflicting) advice for how to best escape from behind it.

Jared is - oh. Jared has a hand over his heart, now, one shoulder pulsing time as he emphatically shakes his head. Even the hand on the steering wheel has one finger lifted up, swaying, chiding, back and forth. Richard feels the corners of his mouth prick up. What is he even listening to? He can’t- he can’t risk tapping on the window, that’d let the guys know that he’s watching something. Instead, he surreptitiously nudges the camera of his phone up above the lip of the window and sneaks a few shots. 

_ you gonna give me an encore when we get to the hotel??,  _ he taps into a message with one of the images attached, sends it off to Jared, lips quirked.

He can see the phone light up in Jared’s cup holder, but Jared is in too deep to notice. And besides, he can’t- Jared would never text and drive unless something was really fucked up. Maybe the next time they need to drive somewhere, he’ll go in Jared’s car. Well, he can’t really sing. Not well. Not- he’s not  _ awful _ or anything, just- it’s not like he’s been like. Onstage. Not that he’d really care, not if it was- if they were having fun. It’d be fun, right? 

He catches sight of him another few times along the road as they weave back and forth through traffic. Each time, Jared is...Jared is  _ involved.  _ Richard swears that once or twice, he catches him just a little glassy-eyed, the color high in his cheeks. Sometimes, after they- well, when they’re- when they’re laying in bed together, after everything, Jared makes the same face, that sort of- sort of distant and thoughtful and overwhelmed look, and Richard. Richard wants to wind his arms around him the same way, bury a hand in his hair, wrap his legs tight around his thighs and pull him back from wherever he’s gone back to.

When they finally pull into the hotel parking lot, Jared is barely a minute behind them. Richard casts a glance back for him as he slings his bag over his shoulder and wriggles free of the Escape. For just a sliver of a moment, he can hear synthesizers and pulsing electronic drums, the warbling keen of a woman’s voice, as Jared opens the driver side door, and then the car is off. Jared shoulders his own bag and plucks his phone ( _ god,  _ it looks so fucking small in his hand, Richard is- it’s just  _ never  _ not gonna’ be distracting) from the cupholder. Richard sees him flush as he swipes it unlocked, and then he’s fixing him with those -  _ fuck,  _ those blue eyes, so wide and sweet and bashful and Richard just wants to. Wants to  _ eat  _ him. Or turn off the lights in their room and just. Hold him. Either. Or both. Both.

“I hope that I didn’t-...goodness, I- I must have given you all quite a laugh.” Jared smiles, although his brow is creased, as he makes his way over to them.

“Huh?” Gilfoyle is already texting, not looking to him as he speaks.

“Jared. Excellent.” Erlich barrels out of the front seat, “We’ll have to make up for  _ lost time  _ after that frankly  _ offensive  _ display.”

Jared’s eyes widen, and Richard sees his shoulders pin in immediately, “O-Offensive-?” 

“We got caught behind another car.” Richard explains quickly, “Everyone got really. Really wrapped up in it.”

“A _BMW,_ Richard.” Erlich huffs, “A grotesque display of wealth, a clear attack against the value of the working man’s time when driven _slowly_ in the _fast lane_.”

Jared’s brow unwrinkles and he gives Richard a thankful glance. Richard hangs back to come shoulder-to-shoulder with him as they all begin towards the lobby.

“So?” He asks quietly, a tiny, lopsided smile playing at his lips, “When do I get to hear you?”

Jared blushes, although his lips quirk, “I’m fairly certain that it’s bad practice to exceed a certain volume when one is staying in a hotel room.” He tells him as their elbows brush, “...Although the JCNAC did post a few videos to Youtube back in the day. If you have any interest, we could take a peek with some dinner once everything is settled. In our room.”

Richard grins, “Take-out’s on me.”

**Author's Note:**

> (y'all we all know it was Marina or Florence or something, let's not even LIE)
> 
> come by and yell with me on tumblr (@clutchhedonist)


End file.
